


Finding Home

by Thesingingsam



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alexei Mashkov Character Study, Healthy look at mental health issues, Jewish Alexei Mashkov, Kent Parson Character Study, Kent is trying, M/M, Mental Health Issues, People have baggage, Rebuilding Friendships, Sad Kent Parson, background Eric Bitty/Jack Zimmermann, how to support a mentally ill partner and still take care of yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-07-17 16:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesingingsam/pseuds/Thesingingsam
Summary: Things are changing in hockey. Not fast, but after Jack Zimmermann kissed his cute blond boyfriend at center ice changes were bound to happen. Sports casters are talking about it, teams and their management are talking about it. Not all positively, but they're talking.For Kent Parson, that means he's hearing more of the same in the locker room. More homophobic bile that he's been hearing for seven seasons and he's tired. He's tired of hiding, and he's tired of all the leading questions he's getting about his relationship with Jack during the Q, he's tired of giving up one part of himself for another. He's ready to come out, unfortunately, Aces management are less than thrilled with the idea. So he walks.He walks and his new team is great, they're known for being supportive of their players. What happens though, when he has to confront a friend he hasn't spoken to in years? What happens when he's forced to face his mistakes and the people he's hurt along the way? What happens when he's not over the wrong boy, the boy he let go instead of the boy everyone assumes got away?





	1. It's Not Goodbye if No One Said It

The night felt darker than usual, or maybe colder. Maybe it was that the bed was harder under his back or the light from his phone screen was too bright and too white and cast the rest of the room into an odd cool shadow. Kent knew none of that was true. He knew it was himself. The weight of change hanging oppressive around his shoulders, making his insides twist cold with panic. There had been a long time, back in the Q that he hadn’t quite understood what Zimms had called a panic attack, what he had whispered about in the darkness of their shared room on roadies. He wondered now if Zimms had felt that same coldness in the dark rooms that Kent did now. The hotels had always felt fun at the time. Maybe that was just him.

_Hey. I’m being traded, thought you might want to know._

It wasn’t the worst text _._ Honestly, it probably could be read as pretty normal if it was meant for almost anyone else. As it was, the first text in almost six years, it seemed pretty lacking. What else was there to say? I’m sorry or maybe Hey, it’s been awhile? Somehow, both options and all their subsequent variations sounded worse. Like an excuse or like half-truths. Two sentences – maybe a sentence and a half if he was getting really picky, but hey, he wasn’t one of the guys who went to college – and it had taken him over an hour to get to where he was now. Thumb hovering over send and terror twisting tight in his chest. Over an hour and he wasn’t in much of a different place than he had been earlier, when he’d first opened the empty bottle of wine now resting on his bedside table and thought it would be a good idea to text Alexei Mashkov.

Send. He just had to hit send. It shouldn’t be this hard. With shaking fingers, he tapped the button and rolled out of bed, leaving his phone abandoned on the pillows. He needed a lot more to drink if he was going to spend the rest of the night waiting for the damn thing to buzz. Kent Parson was not someone who waited by his phone for a text back, that’s what he’d always thought, the kind of person he had built himself up to be. But tonight, he was. Tonight, he would open another bottle of wine, lay in bed, and silently pray whatever half remembered prayers he could dredge up that Alexei would text him back.

In the kitchen, away from his phone and the weird Schrodinger’s text that maybe would never come because God knew Alexei didn’t owe him a damn thing, it was easier to breathe. When he eased the cork from the neck of the bottle his hands weren’t shaking so badly and when he got his lips around the rim and he drank the wine down the nerves settled entirely. He probably had other things to do around the house, better things then going back to bed and holding his phone so tight his knuckles went white and ached. That was how he found himself, open bottle of wine in one hand and a cat toy in the other, trying to coax Kit out from her favorite hiding spot in the guest room turned cat playroom. Never let it be said Kent Parson didn’t love and spoil his princess the way she absolutely deserved.

“Come on Honey, come out. Daddy just wants to play with you. It’s good for you, exercise and stuff.” Nothing, not even a flick of a tail. “Kit, I’m serious. Aren’t you like, supposed to be nocturnal or something? It’s midnight. Come play with the damn toy. This is your favorite, I just replaced the stupid feathers.” Something about that seemed to do the trick. The large maine coon wound her way around the base of her cat tree. The one she never even actually climbed and just liked to hide behind. Taking one disdainful look at the bouncing toy and Kent’s carefully rehearsed encouraging face, she turned and abruptly strutted out of the room, down the hall and to her food bowl in the kitchen. Kent groaned. “You’re not going to convince me to go check my phone. That’s not fair. I sent the text, didn’t I? That’s adult or something.” He followed after her helplessly and slumped into a stool at the kitchen island. “Swoops would be proud.” Kent insisted. Swoops probably wouldn’t be that proud. He probably would have said something about making amends, or trying to have some kind of healthy relationship with his old friends. Maybe reaching out before he absolutely had to. Swoops didn’t seem to really understand that he was maybe the first and only healthy friendship he’d had maybe ever. And that was only because Jeff had essentially bullied him into friendship.

Watching Kit return to her room without even a sympathetic meow for her clearly suffering father, Kent sighed and took another long drink. He was going to have a headache in the morning but that didn’t really matter did it? Tomorrow he was going to be on a plane and not with the Aces in the T-Mobile Arena running practice. That part of his life was over. Likely, his captaincy was over for the rest of career. And that was fine. It had to be fine. He was trading all of that for something bigger, something better.

Probably.

He hoped.

Heading back to his bedroom because that was inevitable - Kent was more than halfway to drunk and waiting on a text from Alexei Mashkov, there was no way he was getting out of waiting anxiously in bed - he set the bottle in the same ring of demarcation that was already on his bedside table. Kent sank into the blankets and stared at the back of his phone. Pick it up. He could pick it up. It wasn’t like the phone was going to bite him, either there was a reply or not. Instead, he turned away, dug through the junk drawer he always planned to clean out and never did – wouldn’t have to worry about it now – and pulled out the remote to his Chrome box. Queer Eye. That was fun. Stupid. And there was no chance anyone from the team would be showing up at his door tonight. He could indulge a little.

It always baffled him, how Tan France managed to get his hair to do that. He had the most gorgeous hair. Probably no cowlicks either. Maybe he just wore a lot of product, Kent could wear a lot of product, hell, he already did what was a little more? Absently he reached for his phone to Google how Tan France styled his hair and froze.

**2 New Messages**

The shaking his hands returned full force as he typed in his passcode and swiped into his messaging app.

_Me: Hey. I’m being traded, thought you might want to know._

_Alyosha: Oh, Little Rat is texting again? I am thinking you forget all about me._

_Why am I caring you are traded?_

Kent felt sick. It wasn’t the worst that had been said to him, not really. And last time Alexei had even bothered to say anything to him at all he’d threatened bodily harm. Maybe it was a step in the right direction? Swoops definitely wouldn’t be proud of that, him making excuses for the guy. It wasn’t healthy or something. He deserved that anyway. Way back when, Alexei had been the one who reached out over and over and Kent had said nothing. Not even a goodbye

 

. . . .

 

They won. They won the fucking Stanley Cup. Kent wasn’t even nineteen and he lifted the cup, kissed it. His name was on it, or was going to be on it. Was currently being put on it? He wasn’t entirely sure when that was supposed to happen but it was going to happen. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered because Kent was drunk and happy and a Stanley Cup winner.

“We did it! We fucking did, Alyosha!” Laughing, he reached for his roommate’s drink, snatched it from his hand and downed the whole thing. Kent gagged and turned to stare at the massive Russian defenseman. “What the actual fuck dude. That’s just straight vodka. And nothing.”

“Da, am Russian. Stories are true, Little Kenya.” Alexei grinned and patted Kent’s back hard as he coughed.

Kent glared at him. “Stop laughing, asshole. Why would you even want to drink that. It doesn’t even taste good. Like, at least put some juice or soda water in it or something. You should enjoy what you’re drinking. Otherwise what’s the point?” It was an old argument in their apartment. Alexei insisted in buying the good vodka and when Kent mixed it with anything he managed to look like Kent had kicked his puppy. With Alexei still laughing, Kent grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the bar. “Come on. I’m getting you an actual drink and then we’re dancing.”

The rest of the night went a little fuzzy from then on. There were drinks with umbrellas and the taste of sugar and fruit on his lips. Jokes from some of the older guys about his girly drinks. How he should drink like a man. Usually it made him bristle. It always had in the Q. Tonight he didn’t care. Tonight all he cared about was the drink in his hand, how heavy the cup had been when he lifted it for his lap around the rink and the feeling of Alexei against him, surprisingly good at moving his big body, not at all like Jack had been, all awkward bouncing and two left feet.

Alexei was good, warm, and fluid as he pressed in closer than any of the other teammates he had convinced to dance earlier in the night. He rolled his hips against Kent, rested his hands on his waist and it made Kent feel small in the best way.

“We are getting out of here now?”

And it was all Kent could do to nod and whisper: “God yes.”

Sloppy and still high off of their win and the unbelievable sound of the final buzzer, they barely made it into the back of the cab before their lips were on each other. It was stupid. They were drunk. They were in public. At least they made it into the apartment and managed to lock the door behind themselves before they started peeling off their game day suits.

The next morning with heads pounding they met with management to talk about the off-season. Kent was given a training schedule to follow and a tip that he was probably going to end up with the C now that Barney was retiring. Alexei didn’t mention what he was given.

The morning after that Kent woke up to moving boxes. He didn’t say anything, he had another meeting with management.

And the morning after that he woke up to an empty apartment and a text.

_Alyosha: Is okay Kenya. We are staying in touch. Big NHL star now, good money for plane across country, yes?_

Kent never answered

 

. . . .

 

They had been close, before the trade. Kent wished he didn’t know exactly when it had started making him feel like throwing up when Alexei’s name flashed across his screen. There had been a few months he’d thought about deleting his number all together. But every time he got close he could never go through with it. The What If’s were too overwhelming. What if Alexei had never been traded? What if Kent had been braver? What if something had happened before that night? What if nothing had happened at all?

It wasn’t like that was the first time they’d felt that kind of pull toward each other. Alexei had always been a physical person, something about Western cultures being touch adverse. That was what Kent had gathered from his broken English in the early days. That, and Kent imagined it was easier to feel close to someone by touching them when half the time Alexei couldn’t communicate what he wanted to. Kent couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been, how lonely.

He stared down at his screen, at that name.

_Me: I’m a Falconer._


	2. Bridge the Rift with Olive Branches

Kent stared at his phone screen long after he had turned on airplane mode and the flight had reached cruising altitude. It hadn’t changed from before he boarded, hadn’t changed from the cab ride to the airport, and it hadn’t changed since he had woken up that morning with pain behind his eyes and a pounding between his ears to find another new message.

_Alyosha: Ok._

What the fuck did that mean? What kind of text was ok? If it had just been ‘K’ at least then he could be prepared for anger, vitriol and sideways glares. Kent had dealt with that before. Even as the Captain of the Aces he hadn’t gotten along with every player that had passed through the roster. He knew what to do with that, smile pretty for the cameras like always and keep your head down in the locker room, pretend like you don’t have to see each other every day, leave the captain stuff to the A’s and with the Falcs he wouldn’t even have to deal with that part. A ‘K’ told him where they stood.

But Ok period? That was some straight bullshit right there. Because that was nothing. It was all proper grammar and bland nothing. Ok period was a non-answer. Kent’s leg bounced against the floor of the plane as he chewed at his thumb, absently spitting out the torn nail fragments. The delicate skin of his nail bed stung, he could taste blood. He kept chewing. Kelly, his agent, would be pissed. She’d managed to convince him years ago that no, sweats were not an option for a public figure to be seen in ever single pap photo. She’d gotten him into nice jeans and patterned shirts. Kent was just as known for his big smile and wild parties as he was for his immaculate presentation. Always except for his nails. Those were bitten down and raw. They were ugly, like he needed this thing in his chest to be manifested somewhere on his person and the button downs and chinos just didn’t cut it.

The man in the seat beside him set his gin and tonic down on the tray table with the loudest sigh Kent was pretty sure he had ever heard – who even drank gin and tonic on a plane? The gin was awful, it must taste like armpit, pretentious ass – and turned toward him with a frown. “Excuse me.” Kent closed his eyes. That tone never meant anything good. “If you’re afraid of flying you should just take a sleeping pill or something. You’re bothering other people.”  Kent took a breath and turned toward the ill-fitting suit in the aisle seat with a winning smile, pushing his sunglasses onto his head.

“Hey, sorry man. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, you know?” He let his hand drop into his lap and kept smiling until his cheeks were just beginning to ache. Always be polite, could be a fan, that reminder suspiciously sounded like Kelly.

“Oh shit. You’re that hockey guy, right? The one with the underwear on the billboard right on the strip.” The ill-fitting suit’s eyes looked like they were ready to bulge out of his head. He looked ugly and fish-like. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“No problem.” It was a problem. Who had the right to butt in on someone’s private moment of whatever the hell that was? And now he was stuck with the guy sitting next to him for five hours. Five hours of this asshole and then he had a short flight from New York to Providence and then he was there, in the same city as Alexei and Jack and all the ghosts of his past fuck-ups finally coming back for him. It was shaping up to be a great day.

Turning back toward the little TV screen in the back of the seat in front of him, he frowned. He could watch something maybe. Better yet, he could make up for the sleepless night waiting for Alexei to text back again. He’d eventually fallen asleep with his phone on his chest and Netflix playing quietly into the empty room. There hadn’t been a new text from Alexei until after he had collapsed from drunken exhaustion. Kent’s head still hurt from it. Flipping his sunglasses back onto his nose, he turned the brightness down on his personal screen and leaned his head against the window. Maybe when he woke up they’d be in New York and something about being closer to his new city would make this all seem like less of a terrible idea.

He was an idiot.

 

.       .       .

 

**Jessica Brown** (@Acesfan90) 3d

So excited to see #LVAces after they finish media day! I’ve been camped outside for hours! #soexcited! #iloveyoukentparson

 

**Jessica Brown** (@Acesfan90) 3d

So, @KParse90 is MIA? I wanted him to sign my jersey am I out of the loop? #whereintheworldiskentparson

**Kevin Davies** (@deserthockeyguy) replied to @Acesfan90 3d

I heard he wasn’t even seen coming into the building. Free Agency started yesterday.

**Amy Briggs** (@dealersAce) replied to @deserthockeyguy 3d

Yeah, but Parse isn’t a Free Agent until next year. #whereintheworldiskentparson

**Kevin Davies** (@deserthockeyguy) replied to @dealersAce 3d

Trades exist.

**Jessica Brown** (@Acesfan90) replied to @dealersAce and @deserthockeyguy 3d

OMG don’t say that! Parse would never leave us! The Aces would never give him up. That’s just stupid.

 

**Providence Falconers** (@ProvidenceFalconers) 2d

TRADE ALERT: #Falcs acquire 2 time Stanley Cup Champion and Calder Memorial Trophy winner @KParse90! Welcome to the team, we love making new friends.

 

**Kent Parson** (@KParse90) 22h

Excited to be back on the East coast! Thanks to @ProvidenceFalconers for a warm welcome to the fam and thanks @LVAces for seven great years.

.       .       .

 

              The swish of blades across freshly cut ice had always been relaxing. At least, Kent was pretty sure it always had been. Maybe it started to relax him like that after the first few times he and Zimms had snuck into the rink before practice on the hardest nights. When Jack had been up shaking in bed and even Kent’s body on top of him, pressing him into the bed with all the weight and force a 16-year-old hockey player could manage couldn’t get him to calm down. Wherever it had come from, it settled Kent into his body in a way nothing else could. Nothing that his old therapist would have approved of anyway. And so, the morning of his third practice with the Falconers found him on the ice before everyone else had even arrived, skating laps as fast and as hard as his legs would let him, wind whipping through his hair with his helmet still sitting in his stall along with his pads. It felt freeing, like driving through the desert back in Vegas with the Lambo’s top down. But this way, he could feel the ache in glutes, this way he could feel real.

              The past few days had been strange. Of course, he’d expected awkwardness, there always was after a big trade. He expected worse than usual from Alexei and Jack. Hell, he’d even expected a little more than usual from the rest of the team. Jack had to have told them something about their past given the way they’d acted toward each other each time they faced off on the ice over the last year. This was something else. Conversations stopped entirely when he entered the locker room, the looks were furtive and distrustful. A few of the older guys, St. Martin and the serious one – Guy – they’d made some small talk. Asked what hotel he was staying at and how he was liking the city so far. But it was all stilted, clearly forced out of some kind of obligation. He wondered if the coaches or management had taken some of the guys aside and told them they needed to start making it work so their lines connected on the ice. Aside from Jack and Alexei, neither of whom even looked at him unless they were forced to during a play, the worst by far was Snowden. The goalminder shot him furious looks over Alexei’s shoulder when the two were laughing together in the players lounge. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably. He knew. He had to know.

              Kent went for another lap, faster this time. He wanted to feel it at the start of practice.

              “Kenny?”

              The slam of the boards against his ribs without pads was a lot harder than he remembered it being. Heart pounding in his throat, Kent sucked in a painful breath. His ribs ached. Kent would definitely be feeling something at the start of practice now.  Taking a moment to get his hands to stop shaking, he pushed away from the glass and skidded to a stop in front of Jack, lingering at the mouth of the tunnel, hands wringing around the shaft of his stick. “What’s up, Zim-Jack? It’s like…two hours before practice.”

              “I usually come a few hours before things get started to run a few drills on my own. I euh – I thought you knew that? Been doing it awhile, eh?” His dark brows furrowed and Kent’s stomach flipped. God, that look used to be so familiar. It was all full of concern and caring. Why did the first real interaction he’d had with Jack since he could remember have to be this, here?

“Right. Yeah.” They’d used to do this together. Idiot. This was Jack’s rink. It probably always would be no matter how long Kent managed to stay with the Falcs. Which at the moment, didn’t seem like it was going to be very long at all. Kent couldn’t remember the quiet of an empty rink feeling this suffocating before. When had they gotten this bad? At this point, the yelling had to have been better. It made him want to take Jack by the shirt and pull him close, get his lips on his. He couldn’t do that. Jack had his Southern belle boyfriend and everyone knew. And Kent – Kent was trying to get better, do better. He was starting over with the Falconers.

Finally, Jack took a breath, tried again. “Kenny, are you…ok?” It was a stupid question. They both knew what skating alone meant. They had both been in the locker room and the lounge and on the same ice the last few days. Jack knew the answer because even after all this time, they could still read each other.

Mostly.

Sometimes.

But it felt like an olive branch. Like Jack was reaching across the chasm they’d ripped open between them. Kent really didn’t want to answer, felt like all the answers he could come up, all the lies, were rising up in his throat and choking him.  He could say he was fine, could say it was just nice to get some extra practice.

“Dunno.” Kent took the olive branch, let Jack drag him closer and close the rift a few inches. “You cool to share the ice? I’m just doing laps. I’ll stay on the perimeter.”

“Oui. I was planning on working on my wrister. I’ll stay on one end.” Jack nodded and stepped onto the ice, his eyes sliding away from Kent again as he headed for the net and Kent forced himself to start another lap. It was surprisingly easy to continue his speed laps while the crack of the puck against Jack’s stick bounced against the walls. He could breathe again. It always felt like before when it had all come so easily.

Little by little, the rest of the team began to arrive, first Guy and Poots who were still living together after Poots’ rookie year and that was an odd pair if Kent had ever seen one. Then St. Martin and Robinson who Kent gathered carpooled in together because their families lived close. Snowden and Alexei always came together too. They were always together. It made something hot and uncomfortable burn through his veins. Why were they always together? Why did Kent care so much? With the rest of the team already dressed for practice, both Kent and Jack made their way back toward the empty dressing room to pull on their practice sweaters and pads.

“You’re looking good you know.” Again, Jack’s voice startled him. Kent wondered if that would ever stop, if it would ever not make his heart pound like this. “Fast.” Kent grunted.

“Thanks. The coaches back in Vegas worked with me. Said it was the best use of my skill. Guess the Falcs agreed.” He shrugged and shoved his foot back in the boot of his skate, lacing them both tight. It felt like muscle memory, the two of them finishing up together, walking down the tunnel in silence in each other’s shadows. Zimmerman and Parson. Side by side. One always fighting to pull in front of the other. Only now, it felt easier to walk shoulder to shoulder.

“Parson!” Coach’s voice rang loud across the ice and both Jack and Kent jumped, wrenched from ghosts of practices and tunnel walks past. “We’re moving you up to first line. We want to try you on Zimmerman’s wing. Poots, you’re on second with Marty and Thirdy.” It felt like the whole team was holding their breath.  Looking out of the corner of his eye, Kent saw Jack’s mouth settle into a grim, determined line. Jesus, he looked so much like Bob. After a moment, Jack nodded and pushed off on the ice. And like that, the scrimmage began.

The first ten minutes Kent skated with his stomach down in the soles of his feet. It was hard to breathe, hard to remember exactly where he was, /when/ he was. When every time he looked up, there was Jack, waiting for the puck, positioned right there in front of the goal. Harder still with Alexei on the other team gunning for him, anger and focus shining bright in his eyes. Kent was struck with an awful thought. That was the look he had seen the last time they had played against each other and Alexei had yelled at him. That look meant he was coming for him, hoping to ram him into the boards. They were on the same team just playing a practice game and he still wanted to check him hard enough to leave a bruise. Kent had fucked up. Maybe he hadn’t known how badly until that moment. Alexei might never forgive him, not even for the sake of the team.

Maybe that was what started it. But something clicked. Like early that morning when he had been skating alone with the wind in his hair and the feeling of his skates on the ice vibrating up his legs, Kent felt like he was really skating, finally present, seeing the ice fast and clear like he was known for. He could feel Alexei behind him, closing in as he passed the red line. The blue line. Even with his head down and his skates sliding wide and fast across the ice, carrying him closer to the net, he knew exactly where Jack would be. Just up ahead, sharp angle on the goal to draw Snowden out of his crease, just to his left. Kent could hear Alexei breathe, he was close. The puck left his tape, sailing toward the empty ice where Jack would be. Kent watched it connect with the blade of Jack’s stick, felt Alexei against his back, felt his shoulder hit the glass and heard the goal horn. Breathing hard as Alexei skated away, Kent heard screaming, whistling. Applause. That was goddamn applause.

“Holy fucking shit! That was the Zimmermann-Parson no-look-one-timer! What the fuck was that? There was no fucking way I was blocking that shit!” That was Snowden.

“That was a fuckin’ beaut Parse! Fuck!” Thirdy.

“Shit, they better keep me on the second line. I think I’m crying, am I crying? It was so pretty.” Poots.

And then there were arms. Big arms wrapping tight around him, familiar, breathless laughter in his ear. It was so easy to fall into Jack’s chest, smack their helmets together and laugh into each other’s faces. It all felt so good, so real. This was what he remembered hockey used to be. This high, this breathtaking joy. And Zimms. Or Alexei. Someone he loved right there beside him loving him right back. Only, Zimms was pulling away now, his smile was dimming and they both were engulfed with the rest of the team. That should have been enough, the team was just as happy for him as they were for Jack. And it was. It felt good. Something had shifted and slid into place. He was part of something bigger, finding his place on this new team. But God, he wished Jack had stayed, or wished Alexei joined his half of the celly too rather than stick close to Jack’s side.

Practice was hard to get back to after that. Exasperated and tired of trying to wrangle a group of over-grown children to focus on their game, the coaches dismissed the team for lunch promising suicides when they all got back on the ice. Swinging somewhere between elated and just as off kilter as he had been when he’d snuck into the rink that morning, Kent was one of the first off the ice. Distantly, he could hear St. Martin and Jack whispering furiously in French. Kent wouldn’t listen, he didn’t want to know.

Stripping off his practice sweater, he tossed his gear into the stall, messy and piled together in one heap. He remembered Alexei teasing him about it that first year in the league. Alexei who always hung his own sweaters, stacked his pads neatly and never dared to spill out into anyone else’s space. He’d told Kent once that he took up enough space on his own. He didn’t need to take up anymore with his stuff. It was one of the first times Kent had felt that now familiar twist low in his gut.

“Hey Parse, you got lunch plans?” Sebastian St. Martin threw himself heavily down onto the bench beside Kent. At least the guy who had the stall next to him didn’t come along with a whole host of emotional baggage.

“Um, not really? I have left overs from dinner last night?”

“Fuck that. Jack’s partner packed a lunch for all the Alternates. It’s our day to meet up together and talk strategy. You should join us, eh? You’re not officially an Alternate but you’ve got a hell of a lot of experience captaining. We could use some fresh perspective.” St. Martin clapped him on the back before tugging off his own pads.

“Look, St. Martin –“

“Marty.”

Kent hesitated, staring at him. “Marty. You don’t have to do this, okay? It’s cool. I get it. I’m the new guy and you guys weren’t my biggest fans for a long time. It’s gonna be awkward and there’s gonna be growing pains and shit.”

“I’m not doing anything. Jack asked me to invite you. Or, well, as close to asking as he can get when he’s all worked up. His exact words were ‘get Parson to come to lunch.’” Kent stared dumbfounded at the older man, jaw slack. “You should come. We’ll be in the players lounge. The rest of the guys usually go out for some fresh air.” And with that, he tugged a sweatshirt over his head and made his way out of the locker room, leaving Kent to stare at the door in his wake.

What the fuck was that? Was he really supposed to believe that Jack wanted him there? Jack wanted to spend their free time together, the time he didn’t have to have Kent on his line, wasn’t forced to think about where he was and what he was doing just talking? Still reeling, a large body blocked his view of the door where Marty had left and didn’t move. After a moment, Kent lifted his head, blinking dumbly up into the face of a very strained looking Alexei Mashkov.

“Was good shot.” He ground out, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Kent wanted to reach for his hands, wanted to work them open and smooth them flat like he used to. He kept staring. “Shoulder is okay? I am hearing it crack against glass?”

After a moment of working his jaw, Kent found his voice. “Yes. Yeah. My shoulder’s fine, thanks.” They sounded so stilted. This used to be so easy, even slipping from English to Russian and back again, one of them always at a disadvantage and trying to make it even.

“Good.” Alexei nodded, hesitated, and turned toward the door.

“Alyosha, wait.” He reached for the defenseman, fingers falling just short of his arm. “Are you staying for lunch?”

The tense line of Alexei’s shoulders made him sick. “Nyet. And please be calling Alexei.” And with that, he too slipped out of the locker room door, leaving Kent standing alone at his stall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that took a little longer to get up than intended. But, that's okay! Here's chapter two. I am so so sorry I can't seem to help but end chapters on less than stellar circumstances. I have a problem, I think. I promise Alexei isn't just an ass and I promise they'll get their moments to reconcile just like Kent and Jack. It's going to happen, bare with me. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! Still interested? Still have unanswered questions that you're looking forward to finding answers to? Chapter three coming soon ish?


	3. Growing Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken me this long! Real life has been changing a lot for me and has cut way into my writing time. This is a bit shorter than usual but I'm hoping to get chapter 4 up sooner than usual. I just wanted to get something out. 
> 
> If you want some way to keep in contact or hear any sort of updates on when I'm writing or when to expect things, my tumblr is vaginalogues, I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> I hope this makes up for the long delay!

              The captain’s lunch was fine, good even. They included him in jokes and seemed to genuinely want to hear what he had to say when they asked him for his opinion on several plays. It almost felt like he was part of something again. Almost. It would have felt that way if it weren’t for the iciness Alexei’s request had left sitting in his stomach.

              Call him Alexei. It shouldn’t be a hard request. That was his name and there had been a time in the beginning, before everything happened, that that had been all Kent had known him by. Now it was only a reminder of how much he had fucked up, all the things he had ruined just by being involved. He was a fuck up. Distantly, he could hear his therapist’s voice telling him to reframe. He couldn’t. It didn’t matter anyway, she was back in Vegas with the rest of his life. She would never know about his negative self-talk. Not anymore.

              “Parser.”

              Thirdy’s voice yanked him out of his familiar spiral and he found himself blinking back at his new alternate captain, shell-shocked and a little dizzy. “What?” It probably came out sharper than he meant. This was why he didn’t make friends. It was why Swoops was the only one who ever stuck around – because he was a stubborn fucker who couldn’t take no for an answer.

              “Chin up, yeah? You did good this morning. Trades suck man, but we’re glad to have you on the team.”  He nudged Kent gently with his elbow. “Not like you’ve been with us as long as the Aces but – teams are supposed to be family. Give it time. It’ll happen.” And with that, Kent again found himself alone, this time in the player’s lounge with a piece of pie sitting in front of him probably left by Jack. Fuck, his head hurt. Why was Jack being like this? What had changed between them? Was it really that he looked like that much shit that morning alone on the ice?

              Thirdy wasn’t wrong. Kent’s team had always been his family, even when he felt like he was on the outside looking in. That wasn’t all that different from his real family. At least the Aces had been stuck with him around all the time. And he’d had Swoops. Jeff had been a life saver from the very beginning. Something about lunch had reminded him of Swoops. Maybe Thirdy was right. Maybe he could find family here again, even with Alexei looming around every corner.

              Kent knew he was supposed to be back on the ice for afternoon drills but as he packed up and headed out of the lounge, he turned instead toward the management offices.

              “Hey George, you got a sec?”

 

 

.       .       .

 

 

 “You’re sure you want to do this Kent? I told you, I can deal with this myself. That’s my job, you don’t have to sit through this shit.” Kelly had been a life saver when he found her. After his last agent, all suits and empty placations, Kent knew he was lucky. She was a hard ass, but when it mattered she knew when Kent needed her to let up. Or actually give a shit about him as a person.

“I know Kel. You’ve only reminded me like, a hundred times. This is something I need to do. I need to be the one to tell them. Whatever happens I need to be there.” The dark-haired woman nodded once, straightened her suit jacket and opened the door to the conference room for Kent, letting him walk in first, all false confidence and calm. Like he owned the place, like he knew what he was doing. Kent wasn’t sure that he’d ever known what he was doing. Not even back during his first year when he’d managed to convince himself he had it all figured out.

“Parson.” The Aces general manager greeted him coolly, his lips turned up at the corners and not an ounce of warmth in his steely gaze. There hadn’t been much between them other than barely concealed distaste for years. That was fine, as long as Kent could keep playing he didn’t need to get along. “I’m glad Kelly called, we’re ready to get your extension signed. The team has only been waiting on you – we’re ready to offer whatever it takes.”

Kent took a breath. He could do this. It was just another negotiation. He’d done this several times before. It was fine, this was all just fine. Dan looked like a frog, his thick neck spilling out over the top of a tie tied too tight. He didn’t understand, it couldn’t have been comfortable, he would have looked fine if he just loosened it a little. At the very least it helped keep his hands from shaking.

“I want to come out.”

The silence around the table was deafening. Kent wondered if it was possible to choke on silence, actually choke because he was sure he wasn’t breathing anymore. “Zimmermann did it during the final and I want a timetable. I’ll sign but I want to come out in the next year.” He could feel Kelly go stiff beside him. She was getting ready for a fight. God he loved her. She was the best. She got it. She kept her wife quiet from most of her clients and everyone else in the league but she understood.

Finally: “We need to talk. This changes some things, Parson, you understand I’m sure.” That was Joe, the assistant GM. Dan wouldn’t even look at him. Kent could feel his stomach drop. He was going to be sick.

“Yeah. Fine. Let me know.”

Kelly called the next day. She wanted a list of teams he was okay going to. Kent didn’t ask why. He knew. This was a backup plan, they’d talked about it as a possibly. It didn’t feel possible that they would get rid of him. It couldn’t be that much of deal breaker. He was Kent Fucking Parson.

He was taken off the ice two days later.

Joe was there again. Dan hadn’t even bothered to make an appearance. He gave only a handshake and a quick thanks for his time. Told him they were doing a rebuild, going a different direction with the team dynamic.

Bullshit.

Kent texted Alexei that night. Took a plane out the next morning.

Things changed.

They kept changing.

 

.       .       .

 

“You’re sure you’re ready for this, Kent?” the sentiment was familiar and yet, it felt so different this time, with Georgia sitting on the other side of the desk, a picture of her wife and new baby girl hanging on the wall behind her. Kent took a breath.

“Yeah.” He was proud that his voice only shook a little. “Yeah. I’m sure. I want to tell the team. I want to put the statement out after.”

Her smile was blinding. “You know the organization is behind you in this, whatever you decide. Whenever.”

“I’m coming out.”


	4. We're Caught in a Tail Spin Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am so sorry this is so so late! I've not abandoned this fic. Life has been up and down and this chapter was so hard to write. I'm not totally happy with how it turned out and it's shorter than usual, but I really wanted to get this out to you so we could move on. I hope you enjoy it!

After that morning’s practice, the ice seemed quiet without Kent Parson streaking across the rink, determined and focused and beautiful. Kent had always been beautiful on the ice. Like Jack he moved like he had been born on the ice but unlike the stoic laser focus of the newest alternate captain, Kent looked free when he moved, like the ice was coming up to greet his skate blade, welcoming him rather than something he had to beat into submission. Alexei wondered if that was the first thing he had fallen in love with Kent Parson over. It was certainly one of the things that remained after so many years. He hated that he still felt it, watching Kent play, he hated that he felt its absences now, as the team began their drills one player short.

Alexei’s thighs burned as he turned on his edge and returned to Coach, pulling up short when he saw Kent standing at the Coach’s side looking unusually small – timid in a way Alexei had rarely seen him. It made his stomach swoop uncomfortably. Something was wrong. Only a second later Coach blew his whistle and the rest of the team stopped, slowly circling back to center ice and Kent who was almost unsteady on his skates. Almost. Once everyone was within ear shot Coach gestured toward George who had appeared at Kent’s side who was now looking a little green.

“Parson has something he’d like to speak with the team about. It has already been discussed by management. If there is any concern among the team you are to come to me immediately. You are not to voice your concerns to Kent or any other member of the team. I imagine as this isn’t a new experience for the Falconers franchise there shouldn’t be any issue.” Something about what she said seemed vaguely threatening. Alexei watched George touch Kent’s elbow comfortingly, he watched Kent swallow.

“Uh. Hey.” Kent rubbed the back of his head, disturbing some of the easier tamed cowlicks back there. Still, Alexei wanted to skate over and press them down with his hand. Kent had told him it helped because his hands were so big. At the time, Alexei had been pretty sure he was only saying it so he would touch him more. “So, there’s been a lot of talk about the trade. I just wanted to clear up some rumors.” George visibly moved closer. This was big. It had to be something big. “Right. Well. I’m gay. And I’m coming out this season. The Aces weren’t prepared to make that happen. Figured you all should know first or something.”

There was silence from the team. Alexei felt sick. Why was Kent coming out now? He’d always said never, always said it was too much. He must have found someone worth risking his livelihood. Someone who wasn’t Alexei. Several more moments of silence passed before Jack broke through the knot of hockey players and threw his arm around Kent’s shoulder. The blond seemed to sag into Jack, their heads bent together as Jack guided him off the ice and back toward the dressing room. Alexei couldn’t feel his hands.

 

 .                           .                            .

 

Like the second half of practice, Kent was glaringly missing from the locker room as the team peeled off their pads, traded chirps and showered the day off before heading home for the evening. But when Alexei ducked out of the showers - the last in the quiet room after standing under the too hot spray until his whole body had flushed pink with heat - Kent was sitting in his stall, wringing a new looking Falcs snap-back between his hands. He was in his towel. Alexei was in his towel and Kent was blocking his bag where his street clothes were neatly folded.

“What you are wanting Parson?” Alexei grunted, caught in the doorway, half ready to retreat back into the shower until maybe the other man got bored and left.

“Shit!” Kent startled, gaze snapping up from the hat between his hands, fixing his eyes guiltily on Alexei looming in front of him. “Alyosha – fuck – Alexei. Sorry. I – right, your clothes. Um…” He trailed off, standing unsteadily and scurrying away from Alexei’s stall. “Here. I just – I’m not going to say anything.”

Alexei frowned, watching Kent flounder. He suddenly seemed so young, like he had back after the draft. When his eyes had looked so wide and haunted.

“About us. You. I’m not gonna…” He took a breath. “I won’t.”

“Is no us, Parson.” Finally, Alexei made his way further into the room, digging through his bag to tug on his sweats. “Nothing to be saying.” The sharp inhalation behind him sounded painful. Alexei wished his chest didn’t clench in response.

“Before. I wanted you to know I won’t say anything about before. It’s just – I know Mama, your mom, I know she’s still in Moscow and I don’t want you to think this is going to be a thing and –“

“Thank you.” Alexei turned, pulling his shirt down over his head and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “But I am knowing, you are very good at saying nothing.” Gritting his teeth, Alexei turned away from the stricken expression on Kent’s face and made his way quickly out the door, hiding the shaking in his hands by curling them into fists, breathing hard by the time he reached his car.

Sitting behind the wheel, he pressed his forehead to it, throat too tight and eyes burning. He wished Kent Parson had never come. He wished he’d never learned how to see behind his stupid too wide smile, wished he’d never roomed with him in Vegas. Alexei wished he’d never been drafted to the Aces.

 

 .                            .                            .

 

It had taken a long time to fall asleep, caught up in memories of long looks and golden hair, chirpy smiles shot back over strong shoulders. He dreamed of them too – for the first time in years - until he was wrenched awake by his phone vibrating loudly on his bedside table.

**Kent Parson**

Alexei’s hand froze around his phone case. Kent was calling. It was five in the morning and Kent was calling him. Aside from those few texts following his trade going through this was the first time he’d reached out since Alexei had moved across the country. Slowly, he slid his thumb across the screen and brought it to his ear.

“Da?” It came out like a growl, thick with sleep and even more accented than he was usually.

“I’m sorry. Alyosha I’m so fucking sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I did what they said. I did everything I’m so sorry I’ll fix it, I’ll figure it out I didn’t say anything I swear…” Kent sounded like he couldn’t breathe, voice wrecked and wet. Alexei sat up, rubbing a hand over his face as he worked his way through the mostly unintelligible hysterics.

“Kenyushka. Breathe. Say again. Is too early for fast English. I’m not understanding.” He yawned.

“Fuck. You don’t – check. Check the news.”

Frowning, Alexei switched the call to speaker phone. The first push notification on his phone was from Deadspin.

**Secret Lovers: How Alexei Mashkov and Kent Parson Kept their Gay Secret for Seven Years**

Accompanying the article was a blurry photo of a much younger Kent Parson pressed against a younger Alexei’s chest, the latter’s face buried in his neck standing on the street corner near a bar – Alexei remembered that bar. Fuck, he remembered that night –  both flushed and handsy as they presumably waited for a cab.

Alexei felt his stomach drop, his whole body going numb. “I’m not understand.”

There was silence on the other line for a moment:

“I’m so sorry.”


	5. A Start (I'm sorry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I am so sorry this has taken so so long. For those of you sticking with me as I limp through this, thank you thank you! 
> 
> Here's a shorter chapter than I'd really like to be putting out but I wanted to get something down. 
> 
> If you'd like to talk or tell me to hurry up the next time I take so unbearably long you can find on tumbler. vaginalogues. :)

Alexei couldn’t exactly remember how he had ended up in Georgia Martin’s office at six am. He really couldn’t remember even getting off the phone with Kent. _I’m so sorry._ Kent had sounded wrecked, heartbroken. And Alexei – Alexei wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. George wasn’t in yet and he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad. Either way, it was Kent who came through the door first.

              His hair was wild. Not the usual sort of wild that made Alexei’s stomach swoop dangerously, like he was riding the curl of his cowlicks. This looked like he’d been pulling at it. Like he didn’t have it in himself to take his usual care with it. He looked unraveled. Alexei was pretty sure he’d never seen him like that. Not even for early practice skates back in Vegas, not when he’d just rolled out of bed. It was like he’d managed to get out of bed even earlier than Alexei himself just to get himself ready. Like he was putting on some kind of costume. Alexei had never seen him out of it. Until now.

              Kent Parson blew into the office like a storm and stopped dead in his tracks to stare at Alexei. He looked gray. Alexei had always thought he looked golden. “You’re here.” Alexei rolled his eyes.

              “Yes, am here. George is wanting to be talking strategy. Is wanting to know story.”

              “There is no story – “

              “Is story. Picture is saying so. Has always been story you just are not wanting to tell – stop biting. Fingers already bleeding. Глупый.”

            Kent glanced down at his own fingers. Alexei was right. The corner of his thumb and index finger were open and bloody. “Fuck.” Kent wiped his hand on his jeans leaving behind a streak of bright blood. Alexei couldn’t find it in himself not to stair at it across his thigh. “Alexei I – “

              George chose that moment – rather fortuitously – to sweep into her office. She looked tired, her eyeliner smudged around her eyes like maybe she had slept in and hadn’t had the chance to wash her face since. “Good, you’re both here. I’ve been talking with PR all morning and it sounds like they’ve been able to hold off the press at least for a little while. No one is coming in or out of the rink without permission.”

              Alexei didn’t like the look on her face. It wasn’t quite angry, but –

              “I don’t make a habit of asking after our players personal lives but I need some kind of story to run with. I need something.” Alexei was surprised that rather than speaking with Kent, George’s attention seemed turned entirely on himself. “Alexei,” She never used his first name. “How do you want to take this? I can have a statement drafted up within the hour.”

              From beside him, he could feel the weight of Kent’s gaze on him too. The room was quiet. It was so quite and Alexei felt a little like he was suffocating. They were both waiting for his answer and all he could think about was Mama and Katya and Papa. He didn’t know what was worse: the danger they might find themselves in once this reached Moscow or if there was no danger at all when they inevitably disowned him. The sound of a chair hitting the floor broke the stifling silence of the room and before Alexei could really process it was his own chair that had fallen backwards as he stood, he was racing from the room, stomach in his throat.

              There wasn’t much to come up, Alexei hadn’t been able to stomach breakfast despite what he was sure would be a harsh scolding from the nutritionist. Still, shortly he found himself sitting outside the bathroom with his back pressed against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. It was objectively a hilarious image – a massive man attempting to curl himself up as small as possible – to his credit, Kent didn’t laugh. He didn’t say much at all as he stood at one end of the hall, watching Alexei struggle through what he could remember of those breathing exercises he had heard Zimmboni talk about.

              “You’re supposed to hold it for four.”

              Alexei’s head snapped up, eyes wide and red rimmed. He hadn’t cried since he was a child but that hadn’t saved him from looking any less distraught. “What?” He croaked. Even his voice sounded like he had been crying. What use was it not when everyone would think he had been anyway? Papa would be angry. Maybe now it wouldn’t matter anymore what Papa thought.

              “When you breathe in, you have to hold it for four – here.” Kent sank down beside him. “Breathe in, yeah? There –

              One

              Two

              Thee

              Four – hold it, don’t breathe out.” He counted to four again and nodded. “Out. There you go. Again.”

              Alexei remembered this Kent Parson, quiet and comforting and private. He’d known this side of Kent late at night, long after they should have gone to sleep before or after games. He was soft and warm and so unlike the man who smiled bright and wide for the cameras. This was the Kent Parson he had first fallen for. The one he had held onto long after they had stopped talking because Alexei knew there was no way this man had just disappeared.

              “Management was supposed to keep it quiet.” Kent’s voice was soft when he spoke again, his eyes fixed on some spot on the floor between his own feet. “That was the deal. I didn’t talk to you and didn’t cause trouble. And then – then I wasn’t supposed to say anything about them after the trade. Like this was all just normal league stuff, you know?” He bit his lip. Alexei wanted to smooth the raw skin there with his thumb. It looked painful. “I know things aren’t good at home for you. Not like, safe. Or whatever.”

              Alexei blinked. That almost sounded like…”I’m not understand.” He mumbled “You were knowing? You were knowing about picture?”

              The nod Kent gave was small, hardly bothering to look up from where he was staring at the floor. “You always said Mama – your mom, you said it would make trouble.”

              “Da. Is dangerous. No good being gay in Moscow. They say you are not talking with me? They are not giving picture out?”

              Kent nodded again. It seemed like all the useful, comforting words he had mustered up while Alexei had forgotten how to breathe had left him just as quickly as they had come. “I’m sorry.” Alexei wondered how many times it was that Kent had apologized to him.

              “Thank you.” All at once, the distance between them felt so vast and so unbearably close. He reached out and hooked his pinky around Kent's and felt the breath leave the other man all at once.

              It was a start.  


End file.
